


Shackled

by BeckNoir



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Adult Stiles Stilinski, Alpha Peter Hale, Bad Friend Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), M/M, Magical Bond, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mesopotamian Mythology - Freeform, Peter Has Feelings, Rating for Language, Strong Language, The author has a potty mouth and refuses to change, Werewolf Mates, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:27:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23746033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeckNoir/pseuds/BeckNoir
Summary: "God, this is the last time I leave Scott in charge of beastie relations.""You've said that countless times before, and yet here we are.""Peter, please shut up."If they get out of this alive Stiles is absolutely going to beat the crap out of the entire pack.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 35
Kudos: 1029
Collections: Secret Steter BFFs





	Shackled

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Firebull](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firebull/gifts).



> My dear, dear Fire! You are awesome and amazing and I'm sorry this isn't quite as good as you deserve!
> 
> I originally had something much much darker planned but unfortunately, that idea just did not want to work out.
> 
> I know I've left it slightly open-ended and there may be a continuation later, but for now, this is finished.
> 
> Also, for those wondering, an Anzû is a mythical creature from Mesopotamian/Sumerian mythology. No much exists about them and I've used the mythology very very loosely.
> 
> All mistakes are my own.

"God, this is the last time I leave Scott in charge of beastie relations."

"You've said that countless times before, and yet here we are."

"Peter, please shut up."

If they get out of this alive Stiles is absolutely going to beat the crap out of the entire pack. Fuck, he is definitely leaving Scott till last so that he can savour the sweet taste of retribution. 

Increasingly dark thoughts of vengeance are abruptly parked however as the giant skwarking fucker currently trying to kill them throws another barrage of flames at them. The tree that Stiles and Peter were attempting to hide behind dissolves spectacularly, and the two men only just manage to jump out of the way. 

Honestly, there is a big difference between ' Lion head with eagle body' and 'eagle head with Lion body' that even Scott should be able to see. Especially when that difference is one of them can breathe fire, and the other just likes shiny things. 

Since Lydia is currently sunning herself in Bali, Stiles had been picked to play diplomat with a 'strange large bird' that had taken up residence in the Nemeton. To his unending annoyance, Peter has been nominated as the token muscle because to quote Scott, 'He's the only one who doesn't have anything important to do.' 

Because playing video games is classed as doing something important, apparently. 

Except, of course, Scott had made a _teeny tiny_ error in his assessment of this situation. Griffins, pesky, snippy things but easily coxed into leaving by the offer of treasure, are a 2 out of 10 on the life-threatening scale. 

An Anzû however, is at least _an 11_. 

The behemoth of a bird was once considered a deity for fuck sake, and Stiles can definitely see why. Its plumage is an inky shifting black, and he's pretty sure he can see sparks of lightening coming off this thing. It quite literally looks like it's just ascended from the bowels of hell. To say the beast's presence is oppressive and terrifying would be the understatement of the century.

"Got any bright ideas before we both get flambéed?" Peter yells at him from the other side of the ash pile that was their previous hiding spot. 

"Honestly I was thinking of throwing you to it as a sacrifice might be a nice touch. Then I would run as fast as my little legs would take me while it turned you into a wolfy 'smore." 

Peter throws him a baleful look but doesn't manage to get in what was no doubt going to witty retort as Satan's Tweety bird rains down more fire vomit. 

Thankfully the Anzû seems to need a few moments between attacks, giving them both a few precious moments to catch their breath, not that it does much. The oxygen seems to have evaporated from the fire around them, and even with their magically enhanced and werewolf stamina respectively, they are beginning to flag. 

Peter looks over as the least annoying member of this infernal packs scrabbles for a plan, the dull bell toll of impending doom ringing at the back of his mind. They are no doubt the smartest member of the pack yet all they can manage to do right now is duck and run. It's honestly demeaning. 

Of course, because life and karma hate him, not a single member of the pack is currently contactable. So he knows he can't rely on the cavalry coming to rescue them this time. 

He knew this had been a bad idea from the moment the wannabe werewolf Messiah had presented it to him. Stiles had rather validly pointed out that Griffins don't usually come this far south until Winter, but Scott had insisted it was a Griffin and that the two of them would be able to handle it alone. 

To this day and every single day since it happened, Peter regrets biting Scott that fateful night. 

Unfortunately for them both, Stiles had relented. Exhausted from a ridiculous number of double shifts at the Sheriff's department, the brilliant spark had caved to avoid an argument and Peter knew he had no valid excuse not to go with. 

And now, staring down the possibility of death by a goliath fire pigeon, Peter wonders if he should have stayed in the coma. 

The bird continues to chase them around the preserve for what feels like hours, Stiles can practically hear the forest's agony at the destruction. They've managed to regroup, but it'll do little good. A ring of fire separates them from a clean getaway, a delightful position to be in when partnered with a werewolf that has an understandably hateful relationship with fire. 

Just about every muscle in Stiles body is currently screaming at him with fatigue. He knows he isn't going to last much longer playing fire dodgeball. 

"We need a distraction." Peter croaks out roughly. 

"Yeah, no shit. But our distractions are limited to either you or me. And I know neither of us is in any mood to solo tango with this thing." Stiles spits backs but with no real malice. He doesn't even have the spare energy to roll his eyes. 

Peter is quiet for a moment, and Stiles turns slightly to look at him. Thankfully, the Anzû also seems to be tiring a little as gaps between attacks have been getting fractionally larger. 

" My will is in my desk drawer in my apartment, I've no doubt you already know where that is."

Before Stiles can even fully process what's just come out of Peter's mouth, the older man is running out of the safety of the treeline and drawing the beast's attention away from Stiles. 

The young spark knows he should accept Peter's sacrifice and make a run for it, but no amount of screaming survival instincts can get him to move. His legs have locked, and his body refuses to move an inch. 

He watches in abject horror as the force of a blast from the bird knocks Peter through several trees and into a graceless heap. 

The Anzû slowly begins to lumber towards the fallen werewolf and Stiles should absolutely definitely be running away right about now.

Except he isn't.

In fact, before he can even consciously process what he's doing, his legs being to move him towards the oversized fowl. All he knows is there's no way he's letting anyone else die because of him, and he's sure as fuck not letting Peter Hale of all people _Armegedon_ him. 

He throws himself forward, allowing momentum to continue propelling him forward and he lands painfully on the ground in front of Peter. 

He knows it's pointless in the grand scheme of things since he's almost completely drained of energy. At most all he will manage to do is to irritate the Anzû even further and make his eventual death more painful. 

Stiles raises his hands as the beasts ridiculously sharp teeth begin to descend and he pushes. He pushes out every last drop of magic in his bones. No fancy spell or incantation, just pure, unfiltered magic. He pushes out his emotions, every thought and feeling that's ever given him strength. 

An all-consuming blue light erupts from his hands, and he can just about hear the Anzû's enraged bellow over the deafening sound of static in his ears. 

If he's going down then so be it, but he's going to give this thing hell while he can. 

Stiles dares to look behind him briefly to look at Peter. Maybe, if they manage to escape this thing by some stray miracle, once this is over, he will put some real effort into getting to know Peter better. 

Stiles continues to pour and pour and pour every ounce of energy in his body outwards, the static noise now screaming in his ear and blocking out all other sounds. He knows he's screaming, although he can't hear himself, and he's pretty sure he's bleeding from his nose and ears. 

Without warning the noise surrounding him stops, and blue fades to black as his powers give out and he collapses to the ground with a hollow thud. 

* * *

The first thought to cross Stiles's mind as he opens his eyes is that the afterlife is distinctly more _beige_ than he was expecting. 

He also aches throughout every inch of his body, which again, isn't something he was expecting from the afterlife.

As his mental faculties slow turn back on, there is a creeping realisation that this definitely isn't the afterlife. 

Stiles slowly comes to the conclusion that by some goddamn miracle, he's actually still alive and inside Beacon Hills Hospital. 

Looking around, he realises his dad is passed out in a very uncomfortable looking plastic chair. Stiles notes that his dad is in a rather crumpled uniform and looks like he hasn't had a shave in about three days. He wonders if that's roughly how long he been out.

Stiles double-takes painfully when he realises it's not just him and his dad in the room. 

About 5 feet to the left of his bed and seemingly sleeping peacefully in another hospital bed is Peter Hale. 

"What _the fuck_ is he doing here?" Stiles can't help himself from saying out loud as he regards the werewolf critically. There are no visible outward injuries, but that just makes Peter being here all the more confusing. 

His dad stirs at hearing Stiles speak and he jumps out of chair like a rocket once he realises that Stiles is in fact awake.

"Oh, thank God. I really thought I might lose you there Kiddo."

Stiles is quickly enveloped in a gentle yet fierce hug, and he's pretty convinced his dad is crying. 

"Takes more than some feral pigeon to take me down Daddio, you know that" Stiles jokes lightly but is met with a rather stern look when his dad pulls away. 

"Tell that to the doctors that had to restart your heart for the third time."

Stiles's mouth drops open, because damn. No wonder his dad looks like crap. 

"What...what exactly happened after I passed out? How did we even survive? How did I get here and why," Stiles pauses to take a vital breath "why the fuck is zombiewolf taking a siesta? Why are we in the same room? Hell, shouldn't he have healed by now?" 

John pales slightly at the volley of questions and looks away awkwardly, which only causes Stiles to narrow his eyes.

“Confess now, and there won’t be any consequences.”

“That’s a lie, I taught you that one” John snorts in soft amusement because running a weary hand through his hair and looking decidedly contrite. “Let’s wait until you’ve rested up a bit more Stiles, it’s complicated..”

“Then un-complicate it. Lydia managed to explain Riemann’s hypothesis to me once, I’m sure you can manage whatever this is” Stiles snips, gesturing wildly towards Peter. Granted, he is still ridiculously tired, and every part of his body aches, but he absolutely refuses to go back to sleep until this situation is explained. The longer his dad avoids the subject, the more Stiles is convinced it something as important as it is unpleasant. 

“Fine fine! Just stop wiggling about, would you? Pretty sure I’d have my parent privileges permanently revoked if I let you injure yourself while already in a hospital bed.” John sighs and pauses for a long while, long enough that Stiles is about to start bitching at him again when he begins to explain what happened.

“From what I’ve been told, you passed out just as Derek and Chris arrived. Of course, they arrived just in time to watch you disintegrate whatever that thing was. Apparently, it was quite the light show. After that, you collapsed on top of an equally unconscious Peter. Derek was worried that Peter didn’t seem to be healing, conveyed of course in eyebrow movements that only Chris could translate” John rolls his eyes at this. He loves Derek like another son, but he’s so used to Stiles talking a mile a minute and finds Derek’s stoicism challenging to understand at times.

“ I got here just as they tried to get Peter in a separate room and well…the two of you are linked. A gold chain kept appearing and then disappearing out of goddamn nowhere whenever we tried to move the two of you any more than amount 10 feet away from each other.”

Stiles looks skyward and slowly counts backwards from 10. He’s a hairs breath away from a panic attack, but he’s pretty sure doing so would send the heart monitors wild and bring the nurses running, which is the last thing he wants right now. 

After gaining a modicum of composure, Stiles looks over to Peter. It’s not that he hates the guy, not anymore anyway, but the idea of being shackled to the snark asshole is a whole other thing. It’s odd though that Peter is still asleep with all the noise Stiles has been making, which Stiles verbalizes to his dad. John grimaces in a way that looks like he’s also holding back a laugh.

“Peter woke up after being in here about a day, just after you came out of the worst of it. He was….not happy with the situation to say the least and seemed to be having some minor control issues. Which Chris remedied by knocking him out with a tranq dart. He looked about ready to chew his own arm off if it meant he could have left. Feral Cat dunked in a bucket of ice springs to mind.” John chuckles mirthfully. The two don’t have the best relationship in the world, to say the least. It's something that stems from even before the Hale fire and Peter being the bane of the sheriff’s department by always getting cases dismissed on technicalities. So it’s no surprise John is finding a little bit of humour in Peter’s suffering.

Exhaustion is starting to slowly win the battle that Stiles has been valiantly fighting. It’s getting harder and harder to keep his eyes open, which his dad can clearly tell and is intending to take full advantage of to escape this conversation.

“Get some rest Kiddo, we can sort this crazy business out when you and Hale are both awake and fully healed. I’ll let the others know you woke up, so no doubt you’ll have quite a few visitors soon and you’ll need your strength for that.” John says softly, and Stiles nods as a yawn escapes him,

“ Only if you go home and sleep in an actual bed. You look dead on your feet, and I’m not going anywhere any time soon. My furry ball and chain will make sure of that.”

John chuckles and nods. He leans over and presses a kiss to Stiles's forehead as sleep claims him.

The next time Stiles wakes up, it seems to be the middle of the night. Without thought, Stiles slowly gets out of the hospital bed and shuffles to the bathroom. 

He attempts to stifle a yelp and fails miserably when upon his return he is greeted by a pair of glowing blue eyes.

“So glad you’ve decided to join us in the land of the living. Maybe now you can undo whatever infernal magic you cast that has us bound together.” Peter growls out at him, which Stiles only raises an eyebrow at. While he’s definitely feeling better, he’s not currently up to dealing with Peter’s bitching. Stiles can practically feel the impatience and irritation rolling of Peter in waves as he purposefully takes a very long time getting back into bed. It's the simple things in life that bring the most pleasure.

“Sorry Kujo, whatever magical buddy system we somehow signed up for, I had nothing to do with it.”

Peter snarls, and before Stiles can even register that he’s moved, Peter is across the room and looming over Stiles. He’s completely wolfed out, but as a clawed hand begins to descend upon Stiles, Peter is violently pushed back across the room by a bright golden light. The unexpectedness of it knocks Peter out of his beta shift, but he stills looks just the wrong side of feral. 

It’s then that Stiles notices the cuff connecting them, it’s the first time he’s seen it, and he’s defiantly sure it wasn’t there when he went to the bathroom. The light or magic or whatever it was, that pushed Peter back is the same colour as the shackle, so it doesn’t take a genius to add two and two together. 

“Look, Peter. I’m not exactly thrilled about this either. If there was something I could do, I would have already done it. Let’s not make this more any more difficult than it has to be by trying to murder each other. And since there’s definitely nothing we can do at this ungodly hour of the night, just go to sleep, and we can try to fix this shit tomorrow.”

Peter looks slightly like he’s swallowed something sour and unpleasant but doesn’t otherwise bother to acknowledge what Stiles has said. He simply returns to his bed, bruised ego in tow, and turns immediately away from Stiles.

God, Stiles hopes this is a quick fix. He isn’t sure he can come with Peter’s primadonna attitude for any kind of extended period.

* * *

“ _What do you mean this is permanent?_ ”

While Stiles can’t do the same impressive growl as Peter, but he definitely echoes the sentiment.

They are both staring at Deaton, who’s finally decided to grace them with his presence and Rolodex of riddles, in abject horror and anger.

There are several people in the room, coincidence or a strategic way to minimize potential bloodshed Stiles isn’t sure. Stiles has also never wanted to be more alone than he does right now. Kira and Scott are stood somewhat awkwardly in the corner while Stiles dad is perched on Stiles bed. Derek and Chris are very clearly positioned next to Peter to subdue him if the need arises. 

“This is ancient magic Peter, one that I don’t think has been enacted for a long time. When Stiles was willing to give up everything to save your life, knowing full well he may die but still doing so without any other motives than to save you. An Anzû is a creature of pure magic, coupled with Stiles's incredible potential as a spark, and taking your proximity to the Nemeton into account, it makes a small amount of sense. ”

“Hell no Deaton, none of this makes fucking sense.” Stiles snaps out, unable to stay quiet any longer. “ You mean to tell me that because I saved someone’s life, something I’ve done god only knows how many times before might I add, we are now tethered together by some ridiculous magical life debt? Bullshit Deaton, absolute bullshit.”

“There is one way that I’ve heard of that might work” Chris speaks up. Every head in the room turns to look at him “the only way a life bond like this would be satisfied is if Peter was to sacrifice himself in a similar manner. No ulterior motives, he can’t gain anything from it, and it can’t be done purely to break the bond. Neither can Peter be the one to put Stiles in danger.”

“And you didn’t think to provide this information to any of us earlier Argent?” Peter snarls at the former hunter. Chris just chuckles lightly in response.

“Didn’t know what it was until Deaton explained. And this might as well be permanent Hale, because I’m pretty sure hell will freeze over before you turn selfless and sacrificing for the sake of someone else.”

Peter is lunging forward at Chris before he’s even finished speaking, and the room erupts into chaos. A lot of people all seemed to move at once but as Stiles lurched forward and yelled out at Peter, the bond snapped solid once more and with a jerk of Stiles's wrist Peter is pulled sharply backwards. He clatters off his bed awkwardly and onto the floor.

Silence immediately falls, even the humans in the room could have heard a pin drop in that moment. As Peter slowly pulls himself off the floor and onto his feet, his eyes are fixed solely on Stiles. There’s an ice-cold rage in those eyes that reminds Stiles of the night Peter died for the first time all those years ago. Even now there’s a strange magical buffer that will prevent Peter from hurting him, Stiles will freely admit he fears Peter will kill him. 

Peter doesn’t even move, he simply stares Stiles down. He’s beyond livid. His pride has taken quite the beating, and the idea that he’s going to spend in the rest of his life being forced to trail Stiles around in indentured servitude is downright incendiary, to put it mildly. 

If there is one thing that Peter is good at, it’s coming up with a workaround to every less than pleasant situation in his life. Peter Hale is not a man that takes no for an answer, and he knows he’ll be able to wiggle his way out of this come hell or high water. But for now…for now, he’s going to have to play the part and pretend to go along with it all. Play nice and docile, or at least as much as he is capable of, and maybe the rest of the pack will let there guard down around him. Perhaps, once Scott believes Peter is nothing more than a tamed pet that can do nothing but dance to Stiles’s tune, maybe then Peter will be able to sink his claws into Scott’s throat and rend the alpha power from the pathetic man-child’s body. Somehow, he will turn this situation around to work out for him. Until then, however, he’s going to have to swallow his pride and play nice. No matter how distasteful he finds the notion.

It takes every ounce of resolve that Peter has ever possessed to turn away from Stiles and to face the rest of his waiting audience. 

“Well if we’ve all had enough entertainment on my behalf, I think it’s time for everyone to leave.” Peter’s voice drips with a painfully manufactured pleasantness that he doubts is fooling anyone. Scott opens his mouth briefly to protest leaving but Kira jabs him sharply in the ribs with her elbow and gives him a pointed look. If Peter ever decides to decimate this entire pack, he may spare the Kitsune girl for that moment alone. 

Behind Peter’s back, Stiles is making exquisitely expressive facial expressions that Scott seems to finally be able to decode. Slowly and somewhat begrudgingly, everyone slowly filters out of the hospital room. 

Stiles’s dad is the last to leave, conflicted over the idea of leaving his son alone with an unpredictable werewolf. He finally goes after repeating for the fifth time that he will be over in the morning when Stiles gets discharged.

There’s a thorny silence when everyone has left, and it’s finally just Peter and Stiles. To no one’s surprise, its Stiles that speaks first.

“Look, Peter, not that it’s worth much right now, but I’m sorry. About all of this. And Chris was out of line with what he said, you know his opinion of you has never been very high and..”

Peter levels Stiles with a look that Medusa would have been proud of.

“You’re right, it’s not worth much,” Peter beings, and he’s planning on breaking Stiles down into pieces, unleashing his smouldering fury upon him, but there’s a slump in Stiles body language and an acrid tang that appears in his scent that gives Peter pause. He knows Stiles was simply trying to save him, for reasons still wholly unknown and unfathomable, and isn’t totally at fault here. Maybe he doesn’t have to make someone else suffer to appease himself for once. “But it’s still appreciated.”

The unpleasant stain on Stiles scent disappears, and to Peter’s amusement, he moves not unlike a puppy that’s just been told what a good boy he is. 

It’s almost endearing.

* * *

Living with Peter is a _total fucking nightmare_.

Despite much whining on Stiles’s part, he eventually relented that his shoe-box apartment wouldn’t fit both of them. Well, that and Peter point-blank refused to ‘be seen in that part of town if he doesn’t have to be’. Peter’s apartment is a high-end industrial style apartment in the nicest part of town. It’s a style that Stiles images Derek was trying to achieve with the loft but failed miserably at. There’s a difference between stylish and spartan, but apparently, Peter never taught Derek that lesson.

It’s a no small miracle that both of them can work from home. Because honestly, how the hell would they explain to, well, anyone, that they have an unwilling shadow because of magic.

It does, however, feel like they are stuck in quarantine. 

Whenever Stiles wants to go somewhere, he’s met with exasperated sighs half the time and snarky comments the rest of it. So it’s easier to just…stay inside.

Whenever Peter wants to go somewhere, he gets people to come to him and then he shuts Stiles in his bedroom under threat of playing very loud classical music all night long if he comes out.

Stiles feels like he’s going to start crawling the walls and he doesn’t think Peter feels much better. 

To start with, the pack came to visit semi-regularly, which helped Stiles still feel at least somewhat tethered to reality. It’s been about 2 months now, and Stiles can’t remember the last time someone even so much as called.

“Stiles! For the last fucking time, dirty dishes go IN the dishwasher _you goddamn heathen_!”

Oh yeah, and Peter had a lot of opinions on Stiles’s living habits. 

Stiles looks up from his book to scowl at an equally pissed off Peter. 

“Consider it a protest Peter, I’ll put the dishes in the dishwasher when you learn to hang your towels up after you’ve showered _you caveman_.”

And Stiles has equally as many, if not more, opinions on Peter’s living habits.

Peter half sighs, half growls before throwing his hands up dramatically and flouncing off. 

This isn’t the first time they’ve bickered, nor will it be the last. In fact, Peter has attempted to separate Stiles head from his shoulders a total of 4 times so far. Which of course has resulted in a magic light show and Peter suckling for the rest of the day.

Thankfully some of the restrictions to the bond aren’t as intense as initially thought. They can move away from the other provided there isn’t an intent to leave indefinitely, which both of them are infinitely grateful for. 

What doesn’t help though, as far as Stiles is concerned anyway, is that a tension has begun to grow between them over the last few weeks. Peter seems to revel in it and turns everything into a power play. Silent moments that are little too charged and looks that are a little too heated and last just a fraction too long. 

Stiles doesn’t even know how it began, it certainly wasn’t there before this situation, and he knows that neither of them has been actively endearing themselves to the other. 

He’s caught Peter staring at him on more than one occasion when he thinks Stiles isn’t looking and Stiles would be lying if he said he hadn’t done the same. It’s resulted in Stiles taking himself off for several long runs around the neighbourhood. 

They’ve had some disgustingly domestic moments that Peter is beyond confused by. Civilized dinners discussing the state of the supernatural community at large, late nights watching movies and early mornings making coffee for one another. Peter has never even done such things with romantic partners, but with Stiles, it all comes strangely easy.

He’s spent hours trying to figure out how this bizarre yet rather spectacular human ticks. They had previously had a reasonably civil, functional pack enforced relationship before this. A mutual respect that Peter certainly didn’t have for many others in the ragtag bunch. Only now, now he wants to get inside the young man’s mind and unravel its many secrets.

Several hours later Peter goes back to Stiles, who is still in the living room but now working on something on his laptop, to partake in their favourite join activity. Bargaining.

“I will start hanging up my towels if you let me put you in something other than that god awful plaid.” Stiles observes Peter critically as he considers Peter’s somewhat surprising opening offer.

“Only if you pay for it all, digital analysts salary and all that. Oh and we order pizza tonight.”

There’s a stretch of silence as Peter mulls over his options, another heated staring contest beginning between them.

“Fine, but only if we go out to dinner later this week. My choice of venue.”

Peter wonders for a moment if he’s overstepped the line when Stiles gives him a look he can’t decode. Wonders if he’s been misreading the signals the entire time.

Stiles jerks his head in agreement, and Peter lets out a breath he didn’t realise he had been holding. Peter walks off then, content to leave Stiles alone to work and stew in his own thoughts. Peter considers the ever so faint, barely-there blush on Stiles face a victory.

* * *

“So..urr…is anything going on between you and Peter?”

Stiles whirls around so fast he goes slightly dizzy. Kira looks like she wants the ground to part like the red sea and swallow her whole.

“No, absolutely, defiantly not. Why would you…I mean what made you…why would you think that?” A lesser mortal wouldn’t have even been able to make out a word that just came out of Stiles’s mouth. Thankfully Kira has been part of the pack and a close friend of Stiles long enough now that she’s fluent in ‘Stiles-enese’ and doesn’t even bat an eyelid at the rapid-fire words.

They are in the kitchen of her parent's house, getting drinks and snacks for everyone as they take a break in the pack meeting. Which looking back now, Stiles realises, was clearly a trap to talk to him alone. At least he can appreciate her tact even if he’s befuddled by her question.

“Well it’s just…you’ve been practically sat in his lap all afternoon. And you keep having these little looks and glances at each other that I’ve never seen you do. I’ve defiantly never seen Peter do them” The last part is muttered, but Stiles hears her crystal clear. “And also…god, I feel stupid saying this, but he’s been scenting you all afternoon as well. I just wanted to talk to you about it before any of the others do because you’re my friend and already having a rough time with the whole bond situation.”

Stiles leans against the kitchen counter for support and considers his words carefully. Granted things are defiantly weird between him and Peter, but is it anything that the pack needs to know about? It’s been about four months now since the Anzû attack, and despite an initially bumpy start, Stiles and Peter are without a doubt getting on better than either of them ever expected to. They’ve settled into a routine, and it’s been nice just knowing that someone is there when the days get a more than a little rough. The tension between them is sometimes unbearable, and Stiles has woken up feeling very uncomfortable from more than his fair share of hot and heavy dreams about Peter.

Which is so goddamn weird just thinking about.

He has always been able to admire Peter’s good looks, is there even anyone with a pair of eyeballs that would deny that man is a physical masterpiece? But Stiles admires brains and personality just as much as he does the physical aspects of someone. Because of that up till now Peter’s always just been a nice piece of eye candy, but one to be kept far far away. Now though? After getting to really know him, watching him fall asleep on the couch while trying to read some obscure book, going out to dinner with him, bantering about the ethical complexities of living in this godforsaken town?

“Oh, _fuck_.”

Kira looks at him sympathetically as realisation thunders down upon him like a choir of baby elephants. 

"Have you spoken to him about it?" Stiles shoots her a look that clearly indicates he's questioning her mental faculties. She sends him a similar look of her own.

"Okay then smart ass, do you have any intention of talking to him about it?" 

"Oh yeah no, definitely not. Once this bond thing is finished, we will go back to normal and move on with our lives. No point making things weird because of a stupid one-sided silly crush."

Kira has a whole host of things she wants to say, how she doubts things for them will ever return to normal, how it's sure as hell not one-sided and how it looks to be more than just a crush for both of them. Before she has the chance, however, the sounds of fists flying have them both bolting out to the living room.

Crashed out on the floor is Peter, split lip already healing up, looking like he wants nothing more than to burn Scott alive with the heat of his hatred. 

Scott's looming over his, teeth bared and Stiles finds himself more than a little surprised at the visceral reaction he has at the sight. There's a sour taste in his mouth as he realises the rest of the pack are simply watching on, most of them bordering on disinterested. 

Stiles has inserted right in the middle of the war zone before anyone can do much as blink, kneeling down to check over Peter. A redundant activity he is aware but one he does on instinct. Missing, of course, the look of fond bewilderment Peter gives him, and the look of quiet approval from Kira. 

"Jesus Scott, what the hell is your problem?"

The scowl Stiles send Scott could level cities, but Scott just looks away, a mixture of embarrassed and angry. It's Peter who is all too willing to answer Stiles's question. 

"Scott here has apparently been taking credit for you killing the Anzû, his pack apparently took it down. I simply mentioned it's rather convenient for him that he has someone like you. Someone that has more power and skill in their little toe than he could ever hope for, so he can continue to take all the credit." Peter's snarling at Scott as he recounts what happened as he stands up from the floor. "And I reminded him that he has a rather nasty habit of taking all the good things you do for himself, and then lambasting you whenever things go wrong. What a true paragon of friendship our dear Scott is."

If Peter was a better man, he wouldn’t take a sick sort of pleasure from watching Stiles round on Scott like a starved lion would a gladiator in the coliseum. Thankfully for him, he isn’t a better man.

“Jeez, Stiles just ignore him. You know he’s just trying to get in your heard and manipulate this whole thing like he always does.” Scott splutters in an attempt to deflect the heat of Stiles’s glare.

“Oh? So Peter just made up the part where I almost died because you were too busy playing god damn video games to find out as alpha, what new threat had landed on your territory?”

It’s bordering on addicting, watching Stiles call out their inept Alpha. There’s an energy and a power to Stiles that Peter hasn’t seen since before the Nogitsune and Peter would be lying if he said it wasn’t dangerously attractive.

The light is hitting Stiles in just such a way that it looks like sparks are coming off him in his rage, so much so Peter can’t even pay attention to what is being yelled at Scott. Except Peter realises a moment later that it’s not, in fact, a trick of the light. Small bursts of fire are actually jumping off Stiles, and to top it off the area of Peter’s wrist that the shackle usually appears is slowly getting hotter and hotter, already bordering on uncomfortable. 

The rest of the pack are slower to react, and it’s not until there’s an ear-shattering crack of thunder overhead and they all begin to realise some is in very wrong.

“What the hell have you done to him?” Scott shouts at Peter, which only seems to rile Stiles up even more. Stiles swings a fist and Scott is downed, a mirror of what Scott did to Peter not minutes before.

Just as quickly as the darkness wrapped itself around Stiles, it recedes into nothingness. The crack that Scott hits the floor with seemingly being the trigger to pull Stiles back to normality.

Stiles knows instinctively that this isn’t like the Nogitsune, he knows all his actions were his own. That doesn’t stop the cold sweat he breaks out in or the tremble that goes through his entire body as he quickly counts his fingers. 

The atmosphere of the room reminds him of standing in a graveyard on Halloween, except the condemning silence isn’t coming from ghosts but his friends.

His heart rate ricochets up at their quiet judgment and Stiles doesn’t think he can cope with it, not now, not again.

The world feels far too hot and yet ice-cold at the same time, everything too loud and too quiet, his body entirely his own and yet not. 

He's failed to once more, failed to be normal. The worst part is that he doesn't even know how or why.

“Stiles…you’re okay Stiles.” 

Gentle words slowly penetrate the deafening static in his head. He knows he must have dissociated, a rare thing even for him, as the world jolting slightly as it caught up with itself. Stiles blinks, dazed and panicked, to see Peter come into focus.

There's a sense of relief at seeing Peter that Stiles is definitely going to have to analyse later to within an inch of its life. 

It takes a moment for him to realise they aren't at the Yukimura house anymore. Instead, they are back home in Peter's apartment.

The fact he equates Peter's apartment as home now is another thing to go on the analysis list for later.

Stiles is relieved there's no one else around but almost starts to spiral again when he thinks about the amount of time he's lost.

"It's okay Sweetheart, you weren't lost in your head for long. World war III looked like it was about to break out so I got you home as soon as I could with Kira and Derek helping our getaway."

There's a gentle softness to Peter's voice that Stiles has never heard before but God, he just wants to wrap himself up in it. 

Mental capabilities slowly returning, Stiles becomes aware that Peter has wrapped him up in a ridiculously soft blanket that must have cost a small fortune. Stiles is nestled up on 'his spot' on the couch, and there is almost zero personal space between the two of them. 

Dusk is slowly overpowering the daylight outside, and there's heavy rain outside that definitely wasn't forecasted. 

"Peter...what's wrong with me?" Stiles's voice breaks like glass, and Peter has to restrain himself from finding and ripping Scott McCall limb from pathetic limb. He hasn't felt this protective of someone since….probably since Cora was a newborn, and it's a feeling he's definitely having a problem controlling. 

" I don't know yet Stiles, but I'll try everything I can to figure it out," Peter says, irritated at himself that he doesn't have an answer for his boy. Peter's thoughts still.

When exactly did he start thinking of Stiles as His? 

"Come now, we'll talk about it in the morning. Can you stand?" Peter asks, and Stiles shakes his head. He feels pathetic doing so, but for some reason, he doesn't think Peter will mock him for it. The revelation that he actually feels safe around Peter hits him like the bullet train. Stiles isn't sure he's felt completely safe around someone since his mom died, and it's almost laughable that it's Peter Hale of all people that make him feel that way. 

Stiles is lost in his thoughts and doesn’t even realise Peter has stood up and is on the move until he is being hoisted up in the air, princess hold and all.

Peter just laughs when Stiles splutters and complains about the injustice of it all, and Stiles thinks he would be willing to spend the rest of his life trying to make Peter laugh, before explaining that born werewolves weight more than Stiles does now by the time they are seven.

It takes a few seconds for Stiles to realise that Peter has walked past the door to Stiles room and is heading into the master bedroom.

“Peter…”

“Hush Stiles,” Peter sighs as he deposits Stiles down on the giant bed “After everything that’s happened today if you think I’m letting you out of my sight then I may have to get you checked over for a brain injury.”

And Stiles doesn’t mind, genuinely can’t find it in himself to care, but somehow sleeping in the same bed feels like crossing a line that they can’t come back from. 

Sleep is rapidly creeping up on Stiles, the entire day has drained him of any and all energy, but he’s able to enjoy the view of Peter stripping down to only sleep pants before he crawls into bed with Stiles. Despite the size of the bed, Peter’s so close Stiles can feel his breath on his face. Can smell Peter’s expensive cologne complimenting his natural earthy and heady scent. It’s a smell Stiles could drown in.

“Go to sleep Stiles, I’ll keep you safe.”

* * *

“We were starting to wonder when you would begin to awaken, Child.”

Stiles groans as he comes to awareness, a combination of fear and rage. 

"Go away, absolutely no vacancies. My brains barely big enough for me."

There's an echoing chorus of laughter through the blackness of his mind. Clearly, whatever is here with him, there's more than one of them.

"Worry not child, this is a fleeting visit. A family reunion if you will." Speaks the same disembodied voice from before. Male and with an accent Stiles absolutely cannot place.

"While that's lovely and all, if you could take your little get together somewhere else that would be wonderful. Growing boy here, need my beauty rest." Stiles snaps.

About four glimmering shapes are beginning to take form in front of him, although stopping short of becoming corporeal. 

"Oh, he's going to be a lot of fun." A female voice this time he thinks, and if he had to bet money on it, he would guess from somewhere in Eastern Europe. 

" _Oh my God_ , will you either explain what you want or fuck off? I really don't have the patience to deal with this crap right now."

The echoing laughter returns, and it's starting to grate on Stiles's nerves.

"At ease, young one. We have a lot to explain and not a lot of time ." A different voice speaks this time, and Stiles gives up trying to give the voices arbitrary labels of gender or origin.

"To be blunt little one, you are one of us now. You are an Anzû." The first voice speaks, and Stiles loses the breath from his lungs. He can't form words to respond to what's just been said because _what.the.fuck._

"The power of an Anzû is only passed to those of appropriate worth. Very rarely is a human chosen to become one of us. You must have an extraordinary magic little one."

This cannot be happening.

This _cannot_ Be happening to him.

"Our sister had grown tired of this life and begun her search for a new successor some decades ago. When you took her powers, you allowed her to finally rest." The voice continues, and Stiles wonders if you can vomit in a dream. 

"So I killed your sister, and you're thanking me? Seems like a solid family dynamic you got there."

And _again_ with the chuckle chorus.

"If she did not deem you worthy, you would not have survived child. One day all of us will tire of life and find new heirs for our power sparks. It is how it has always been" A fourth voice, one that sounds like it watched the solar system be born, rumbles out at Stiles. 

"But I don't want this! I didn't ask for this! Go find someone else to join your weird-ass family. I was fine being a human, I was fine with how things were" Stiles shouts into the darkness, hysteria threaded throughout his words. 

"None of us wanted this boy, but this is the life you shall have. Now, we have much to discuss, and I feel we have little time to do so in" The ancient voice rumbles out, and Stiles knows with despair that he has absolutely zero say on the matter. His decision has been made for him, and he’s going to have to live with it. 

"It will take some time for your body to fully adjust to the powers you now possess. Until that time the funnel link will remain, you…"

"Wait, hold up. Funnel link?" 

Somehow, even for floating, not quite solid, blobs of light, they all manage to look at Stiles like he's clearly a fucking idiot.

"The bond between you and your One. It formed when you took in our sister's life spark. It was indeed fortuitous you were together at the time, or you might not have survived the initial transfer. The funnel link sends the excess energy that your human body cannot process and sends it to him. As a werewolf, I doubt he even feels it." The third voice is talking again, sounding like they might as well be talking about the goddamn weather.

Nevermind wanting to vomit in a dream, Stiles is convinced he’s about to pass out, which.

“Deaton said…Our druid said it was a life debt bond. He said Peter would have to sacrifice himself for it to break.”

All he’s met with in response is a snort.

“A druid that doesn’t know what actually going on? How unoriginal.” The one distinctly feminine voice titters “Once you have fully adjusted to your new powers, the physical bond will stop appearing. Thankfully for you, by that point, he will have absorbed enough magic that his life span will match our own.”

“Please stop talking for the love of God, I need a minute.” Stiles pleads. He absolutely, one hundred thousand percent cannot process all this right now. He knew enough about Anzû’s and the supernatural to understand what they meant by referring to Peter as his ‘One’. They haven’t even so much as kissed and now Stiles is finding out there are some pre-destined soul mate shenanigans going on? He likes Peter, and honestly is probably more than a little in love with him but this is all still a bit much. 

He can’t think about that right now though. It’s a bridge he and Peter can cross when the time comes, and Stiles isn’t being unwillingly initiated into some mythological barbershop quintet. 

“So powers, I’m assuming the fire and the weather fuckery are things I have to look forward to?” Stiles finally begins, wanting this to over already but he needs as much information as he can get. He needs to prepare and adjust and figure out what the fuck he’s going to do. While it’s not a position he would have willingly put himself in, Stiles is a survivor if nothing else and maybe this whole damn thing can be to his benefit?

“We can all control Fire, yes, some can control water, but you and the elder are the only ones that have dominion over the storm.”

Excellent, he is weird even by Anzû standard.

“And any intention of telling me your names? I’m Stiles, by the way, you know, just in case you wanted to send me a birthday card. Or one of those cutesy yearly roundups that white people tend to do” He can’t resist the urge to add on the vastly unnecessary snark at the end.

“I am Aziru” The first informs Stiles. “Then we have Marjan and Umi. The Elder is simply the Elder. They no longer remember their given name, or if they even had one.” 

It’s then that Stiles notices that the darkness around them is slowly beginning to recede and panic sets in. He can’t wake up without getting his questions answered.

“Fear not little brother, we have already begun to travel to you. Once we meet, we will be able to help you more. Now awake, your wolf needs you.” The feminine voice, Marjan he thinks, says as they disappear from his mind. Stiles’s awareness is flooded by the artificial light of Peter’s bedside lamp, and he shakes the last dregs of sleep-away as he tries to rationalise whatever the fuck it is he just experienced.

“Stiles, darling, I need you up and functional as possible as quickly as possible.” There’s a hard edge to Peter’s voice. This isn’t sweet caring Peter from last night. This is ‘ happy to tear the world apart with his bare hands’ Peter.

Stiles is lurching out of bed, confused and mildly disorientated. Peter throws some clothes at him, and Stiles doesn’t even argue about wearing Peter’s clothes.

“Mind telling me what the hell has you so wired at ridiculous o’clock at night?”

"Kira just called to inform me that my dear nephew is currently trying to hold off our illustrious leader from coming over here. Apparently, Theo and Deaton have convinced him that he should put us both in Eichen House."

Stiles stills, and it feels like the worlds turned a little colder. 

He knew Scott still didn't trust him, knew that they had drifted apart over the last few years, and granted Stiles had floored him a few hours ago. But to want to put him back in Eichen? The place that Stiles still to this day has nightmares about? 

Stiles sighs as he attempts to stave off another panic attack. If everything that happened in his dream was real, if he really is an Anzû now, then he knows that he and Scott would have had to part ways eventually. He hates that it's happening like this, that he feels so thoroughly betrayed by someone that was once a brother to him, but he refuses to go back to Eichen. Come hell or high water Stiles will stay out of that God-forsaken place. 

"Stiles, I promise you. I won't let them take us back there." Peter says as Stiles opens his eyes. The certainty that Peter talks with, the clear determination that he will protect Stiles no matter what, is a warm comfort. Loyalty is, after all, a trait that Stiles values above all others. In the face of Scott's betrayal, it speaks volumes to Stiles and clears away the last of his lingering doubts.

If you had asked Stiles 6 months ago if he thought it was possible to fall in love with Peter Hale, he would have laughed himself to death over the ridiculousness of the suggestion. Now though? Now he thinks he would be willing to do anything and everything to keep him by his side. 

Stiles doesn't hesitate as he closes the gap between them to press his lips against Peters. It's a small victory that he's able to surprise Peter, who freezes for just a moment before enthusiastically responding in kind.

It's everything Stiles didn't know he wanted and it feels like the first right decision he's made in a long time. 

Peter's wolf internally howls in sheet elation as Stiles kisses him, succinctly answering a question that had been gnawing away at him since yesterday, and knows in an instant they'll have to kill him to separate them.

Stiles tastes more decadent than honeycomb and Peter is instantly addicted. He wants nothing more than to work over the brilliant young man until he's a withering mess, to make him reach an ecstasy he's never felt before. Peter wants to claim every inch of the divine body beneath him, wants to pound Stiles into the mattress and any other flat surface they can find until dawn rises. Plans to worship Stiles's body like an acolyte before an alter until he's screaming out Peter's name to gods unknown. 

They part, both incredibly reluctantly, when Peter’s phone buzzes with a text. 

“Derek couldn’t hold them off any longer, he and Kira are on their way over now, but he thinks the rest of them will be here in about 10 minutes.”

Stiles doesn’t say anything, simply laces one of his hands together with Peters and leads him out of the bedroom to await the impending showdown with his former friends. Stiles has no intention of losing, and the double-crossing Judases won’t know what hit them.  
  


* * *

“You know, we specifically left the door unlocked, so you didn’t have to break it down. But since you’re no respecter of personal property and since that door is genuine Bocote wood and probably costs more than your squatty little apartment, I’ll be sure to send the invoice to your mother.”

It’s almost amusing to Stiles watching the different facets of Peter’s personality shifts depending on the circumstances and the people around them. It’s hard not to start daydreaming of exploring all of those different facets and mentally documents all of their little intricacies. Scott ignores the antagonism, he’s focused solely on Stiles who in turn is purposefully using it as an excuse to look at Peter like he hung the sun, the moon and all the stars.

"Stiles, don’t make this hard than it has to be. Just come peacefully, and we can get you help. We can find a way to undo whatever he’s done to you. We’re going to make sure Peter never hurts anyone else ever again."

Stiles can’t help it as he bursts out laughing and he certainly doesn’t attempt to hold it in. 

"I’m sorry Scott" Stiles begins once he can finally speak again " Have you, by any chance, _lost your god damn mind_?"

Scott looks at him like a confused kicked puppy, and honestly, Stiles can’t understand how he put it with it for so long.

"If you honestly think you are getting me back inside Eichen House in other than a god damn body-bag then we are going to have a serious problem. And let’s be honest you fully plan on getting one of your lackeys to kill Peter because of course, you’re way too good to do it yourself. So here’s what’s actually going to happen. I’m not going, neither is Peter, and you’re all going to get the fuck out of our apartment." Stiles says, purposefully relinking a hand with one of Peter’s for added effect. It definitely works because Theo and Deaton both look mildly disgusted and Scott looks like his brain is about to spontaneously combust from thinking too hard. Stiles doesn’t even need to look at Peter to know he’s smirking like some kind of murderous Cheshire cat.

"Stiles…please, don't do this. Don’t make me do something we’ll both regret."

A tornado of emotions begins to rise up in Stiles at the threat, and it takes everything inside of him to hold Peter back, who’s wasted no time in beta shifting and is snarling up a storm.

It’s tempting to set Peter on Scott because he knows Peter would be able to outsmart Scott at every turn, but he doesn’t want to run the risk of Peter getting hurt. Especially not from Alpha claws that would leave some lasting damage, even more so when Stiles is 100% sure of the stability and extent of his new powers and abilities. 

He’s reminded then of a moment in his training, when he spent time with Satomi’s emissary. The wizened old fossil took Stiles deep into the mountains one day to teach him something that back then Stiles swore to never do.

How to take an Alpha Spark. 

He knows it’s cruel, but he can’t find it in himself to care. Scott should have thought about the consequences when he made up his mind to do the one thing he promised Stiles he would never do.

Stiles has crossed the room in seconds, and he looks Scott square in the face. Theo, of course, tries to intercept, but with a flick of Stiles’s wrist, the annoying pest is halfway across the room. 

"Stiles! What are you doing?!"

Not designing to answer, not yet anyway, and grateful that Peter seems to have got the message and is holding pack the others, Stiles focuses his magic into his hands before plunging them directly into Scott’s chest. 

His former friend lets out a strangled half growl before looking down at his chest. There’s no blood, but Scott can defiantly see and feel Stiles’s hands inside his chest.

"You see Scott, I’m doing something I really should have done a long time ago. I’m taking back something that you don’t deserve. And I mean, there is a laundry list of reasons why you don’t deserve this but betraying your packmates for something they can’t control that is in direct relation to something you did, or didn’t do in this case, is pretty high up there." There’s no emotion on Stiles face other than a stony determination as he finally finds what he was looking for. With a hard tug and a pained cry from Scott, Stiles removes the Alpha spark from Scott’s chest.

There’s a stunned silence throughout the apartment, made even more prominent by Derek and Kira choosing that exact moment to arrive. Stiles is enraptured by the glowing mass of energy trapped within his hands, it’s raw, primal power in it’s purest form, and he knows exactly what he’s going to do with it. 

Peter watches, dumbstruck for the first time in his life, as Stiles rips the source of Scott’s alpha power from his chest. If he didn’t already know that Stiles was probably the most dangerous person he’s ever met, he does now. 

He finds it _incredibly_ attractive. 

Stiles begins to slink across the room to him, looking like he just found the meaning of life in the planes of Peter’s face. Peter knows that that moment Stiles reaches him, lips crashing against his like the ocean against the shore and as Stiles’s hands shove the alpha spark into Peter’s chest, is the moment Peter will remember above all others when he goes to his deathbed.

Peter feels like he's had liquid euphoria shot straight into his veins and he’s hard-pressed not to fuck Stiles’s brains out right there and right now on the living room floor in front of everyone just to show his appreciation to his bewitchingly breathtaking mate. There’s a not-so-subtle cough from Derek somewhere in the background when the kiss lasts a little too long, and once again they are forced to reluctantly separate.

Theo and Deaton are hurrying to get Scott back on his feet and heading towards the door when Peter calls out to them.

"I want all three of you out of this territory before sunset tomorrow, or else I’ll rip out your hearts and sacrifice you all to the Nemeton." Peter can barely contain his smirk as he decrees their fate. He turns then to the gaggle of misfit young whelps Scott as accumulated in his time. "As for the rest of you, you have a week to pack up, I certainly have no use for any of you. I’d suggest going to find Satomi Ito, I’ll let her know to expect you." 

That’s all they need to bolt out of the door. Deaton and Theo shoot them one last hateful look as they leave, whatever wicked plan they had cooked up thoroughly in ruins, and almost as quickly as the apartment was invaded it is emptied again, save of course for Derek and Kira.

"Now, why don’t the two of you go home and rest up? I’ll take us all out for a pack dinner tomorrow to celebrate the new regime change." Peter suggests cheerfully, still coming down from the power high. Derek rolls his eyes at his uncle's antics but can’t stop a faint smile from making it’s way to his face. 

Kira, however, is stood looking confused and uncomfortable, not quite sure who to look at.

"Kira, if you don’t want to stay in the pack we will understand. It would be a great disappointment, but I’ll understand." Peter says gently and fights the urge to laugh when she looks up at him like a deer in headlights.

"Oh! No! I just…I just wanted to make sure you meant for me to stay? Because I do, want to stay that is." Kira explains quickly before flushing with embarrassment. 

Derek decides to show pity on the young Kitsune and begins to shepherds her out of the apartment. He’s been around his uncle for long enough to know what the look on his face means whenever he glances at Stiles, and the smell of want coming off Stiles in waves could probably be smelt in the arctic it’s that strong. 

The pair leave and peace reigns once more. Stiles takes a moment to revel in a crisis averted, a rarity in Beacon Hills that’s for sure. He turns to look at Peter, who’s looking at him with total and completely unabashed desire. 

"So, should we fix the door first? Wouldn’t want to traumatise the neighbours too much."

"Darling, I’m about to make you sing my name louder than the national anthem. They’ll hear you door or no door." Peter grins wickedly before taking Stiles’s hand and leading him back to the bedroom.

As Peter takes his hand, delicately and lovingly, Stiles can’t even begin to think on anything else but the man in front of him. There are issues still unresolved, restructuring an entire pack isn’t going to happen overnight. There’s still the looming issues of Stiles’s new powers and what it all means for them both, the impending visitation from the other Anzû and the fact he doubts the threat from Theo and Deaton is truly gone, but not of that matters in this moment. In this moment, Stiles can’t help but think that if this is what he has to look forward to, together side by side with Peter, then eternity is suddenly looking considerably more appealing.


End file.
